


Bnha Shinsou short

by Unintendedconsequences



Category: My Hero Academia, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: F/M, Original Quirk, POV Female Character, Pining, Shinsou is buff, Shinsou provides motivation, Sweet brainwash boi, Y’all really sleeping on my boy, highschool, lack of motivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23799328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unintendedconsequences/pseuds/Unintendedconsequences
Summary: This is just a little doc I wrote a while ago, and has been going stale in my notes app. I may or may not continue. I actually intended for this to be smut, but I get too caught up with describing normal shit sometimes.
Relationships: Shinsou Hitoshi/Reader
Kudos: 12





	Bnha Shinsou short

**Author's Note:**

> I guess the character whose perspective I'm writing from is technically an OC, but she doesn’t have a name yet. Also I'm doing all Imperial measurements, so sue me.

I had begun to play a game with myself. While staring at the board in the front of the room a I would think of absolutely nothing, while blinking, but not just any blinking, oh no. You had started at a normal pace, but as the lecture proceeded you began to take steadily slower blinks, and take less time between them. The game was to see how long I could make it without dosing off. Eventually at the bottom of a particularly lethargic blink my eyes fluttered once, then my head tilted forward ever so slightly then shot back up as I awoke from my ,"game". I took a short sigh good game me, you thought taking a quick glance at the clock sweet 1 hour 7 minutes, new record. I take a look at what's supposed to be the main focus of this particular ,"class". Midnight leaned in front of her desk, in a smart pinstripe blazer and slacks, flats, and a blue button up dress shirt; her hair was half tied up in an elegant bun, for her the outfit was... scandalously modest. She tended towards these sort of looks when not in the spotlight. I smiled; she was a good teacher a great one in fact, she knew how to make the problem kids listen, and the good kids actually enjoy her classes. Unfortunately I didn't really fall into either category particularly well. Yes I got good grades, and held a great deal of respect for my teachers and peers. I knew how hard each and every one of them worked to get where they are. I glanced around the room one more time taking in just how intently everyone was listening and watching. The general courses classes were way bigger than either of the hero courses, and because of this my classes often occurred like college lectures in huge semicircular halls with bolted down seating and desks. It takes a special skill to teach a polarizing subject like art history, in such a crowded vast space, and still manage to capture the attention of everyone. Everyone but me it seemed. You see this is where my good student façade tends to falter. I understand the material, I know the vocabulary, I can recite names, dates, poems, and prose like a parrot repeating back meaningless noises. That's why no one worried. Because I was fine. I seemed to be succeeding, I didn't disrupt the classroom, and I kept to myself most of the time. No one seemed to really see when passionate studying and reading for hours on end, simply for the pleasure of doing so turned into skimming over months of material at a time and staring into the pages of a beloved book, without moving a page, never reading a word, simply staring quietly with unwelcome apathy. I understood of course. The differences were subtle, I probably wouldn't have noticed myself if I wasn't experiencing it. Even then I didn't really realize how bad it had gotten until I had begun a recommended series, and barely gotten past page 3 in almost 45 minutes. It was gradual, no huge jumps in behavior. I leaned back slightly, and closed my eyes, opening them to a familiar light blue tinted version of the world. With my quirk, Phantasmagoria, I could speed up the rate at which I process information enough to create a sort of spectral shadow of the world around me in a still snapshot in my mind. None of it was real, but the brain fills in bits and pieces of missing information, allowing me to move around in my spectral realm with a reasonable 3 dimensional model of everything I could see before I closed my eyes. The quirk even allows me to touch, smell, and hear certain things, however all of those sensations are purely based on assumption. You could never really feel something you've never felt, but you developed an idea that just by sight humans tend to have a reasonable idea of an object's texture, or consistency. Sometimes you can even anticipate movement, if a ball is thrown, and you activate your quirk you can see exactly where the ball is going to fall just by focusing on it in your phantom realm. No matter how long I take to analyze a situation in my head, in the real world it takes less than a moment. It's not perfect, given that a lot of what the vision is is my brain assuming information. For example if someone were hiding a knife behind there back, I would have no way of knowing, and my brain would simply assume they were just holding their hands behind their back. On the other hand if I ever assumed something even if it wasn't true in real life it could manifest in the spectra. I could train my quirk by studying the response of objects to physical stimuli, as well as human psychology, in order to accurately hypothesize how someone will react to any given situation. Even with this quirk I hadn't made it into either hero course. This is because physically I was unable to do any real damage whether or not I knew what was coming. I wasn't the only one with this dilemma in my class however. One row in front of me, and a few seats to the right sat someone who's situation was eerily similar. The boy was slightly slouched while taking notes. Lavender hair shot out in all directions. From behind my thick woolen curtain of apathy I thought I could feel something moving, a flutter maybe, but I paid it no mind. The boy was about my age, and 5'9", dressed in a dark green long sleeved shirt. His name was Shinsou Hitoshi, first year class 1C, just like me. He was only in this course because of his quirk (brainwashing, if you didn't already know, but you totally do because who tf reads anime fanfic without knowing the character) I guess neither of us were really at any sort of advantage against giant robots. All that experience had gotten me was disappointment and a nasty bruise down my back. I shifted my shoulders remembering the months of stomach sleeping, and awkward slouching that I had endured, even though apparently it was minor enough that Recovery girl didn't bother to heal it.  
Shinsou was unpredictable. Not in a dangerous sense, but in a general one. He was difficult to read, quiet, mysterious, buff... Wait when did he get buff? I could see the gentle curve of lean musle peeking out from the soft fabric of his sweater. My spectral self approached him curiously. Funny, I could have sworn he was well and truly skinny when I had first met him. Was he training? He must still be wanting to get into one of the hero courses. I reached out gently towards his bicep. I could feel a gentle warmth, as I ran my hand lightly over it. I looked at his eyes, tiredly fixed on Midnight’s lecture. Another flutter from behind your apathy, but this time it didn’t subside like it had before. It thrummed up like a timpani, and buzzed gently in the back of my chest. I pulled my hand back sharply, and quickly exited my phantasmagoria. I looked at the back of Shinsou’s head one more time, the thrumming still present, though it seemed to have dissipated a little, and migrated from my chest to the tips of my fingers and nose. As the bell ring I packed my stuff quietly, and walked out of the hall.


End file.
